A Pox Upon Your Houses
by fhestia
Summary: When Professors Snape and McGonagall come down with the Grindylow Pox at the same time, Madam Pomfrey is left to handle two stubborn patients who have regressed in age emotionally. Written as entry in Healer Pomfrey's writing challenge; Grindylow Pox and concealment charms are her creation.
1. Chapter 1

"Your instructions are on the board. You have thirty minutes to make your best attempt at brewing a Shrinking Solution, although I don't hold out much hope for the results. Begin."

Professor Snape watched as the students immediately bent their heads to their work, the only sound in the classroom that of daisy roots being chopped. His mind was elsewhere. He winced as his tongue automatically went to the alveolar ridge just behind his upper teeth where a largish, tender bump had been distracting him all day. He was acutely aware of it every time he spoke, and as the tip of his tongue drifted back to his hard palate, he discovered two new tender areas which had recently developed. He didn't remember burning his mouth or consuming anything irritating during the course of the day, but it was the first week of a new term, and anything could have happened. He shook his head impatiently. He couldn't allow himself to be absent-minded while there was an entire classroom full of dunderheads just waiting to blow up his classroom.

He paced the rows of tables, stopping occasionally to snarl reminders at forgetful students who were being too liberal with rat spleens and leech juice. When he reached the back of the classroom, he spun on his heel, allowing his robes to flow out behind him, but the dramatic effect was lessened somewhat when he lost his balance and had to catch himself against a nearby table. That was odd, too. He didn't feel _ill_ exactly, just a bit lightheaded and not quite himself. Tired, perhaps, but nothing a quiet weekend wouldn't put to rights.

By the end of his final class of the day, Severus knew he had crossed the border from feeling not quite himself to feeling decidedly ill. Even when a careless second-year reduced his cauldron and a portion of the worktable to a smoking, gelatinous mass, Snape lacked the strength to do anything about it other than ordering everyone to clear out while he dealt with the mess. Afterward he dragged himself to his quarters, his head aching, the simple act of walking causing the pounding discomfort to intensify with each step. The inside of his mouth was now completely covered with sores, and swallowing was becoming extraordinarily painful.

When he reached his quarters, he went directly to his bed chamber. Standing in front of the mirror, he murmured "_Lumos._" After a bit of awkward maneuvering, he used the wand light to catch a glimpse of his throat, the sight of which made his eyes widen in surprise. It was covered in angry, greenish-red sores. No wonder it hurt to speak and swallow; even breathing was becoming uncomfortable. He tucked his wand away, feeling very cold and shivery.

What could possibly be ailing him? He hadn't been around the students long enough to catch anything, and besides, it didn't feel like a cold or even the flu for that matter. He cast a longing look at his bed, where the blankets were rumpled invitingly. More than anything he wished to rest, but he was expected in the Great Hall for the evening meal and at a staff meeting immediately following. He might be able to skip the meal, but the meeting was mandatory. He wasn't terribly hungry, but he would need some kind of sustenance to endure the evening. He only hoped there was something remotely palatable that wouldn't irritate his throat too much.

* * *

After a nap that did nothing to make him feel better and a hastily-applied concealment charm to hide the worst of his physical deterioration, Severus made his way to the Great Hall, taking the empty seat next to Minerva.

"You're having custard?" he asked, averting his gaze from the pale, lumpy substance she was listlessly pushing around the bowl. "Is that all? No saucer of cream?"

"Stop it, please," Professor McGonagall said, giving him a haggard look. "It's been an exceedingly long day and I'm in no mood for any banter at the moment."

"Surprisingly enough, neither am I," he said, using both hands to heft a nearby teapot. He almost managed to keep his hands from shaking as he held it out towards her. "More tea?"

"Thank you," she said quickly, with a brittle smile that did not quite touch her eyes. She added an unusually copious amount of honey to her cup and then wrapped both hands tightly around it as if trying to absorb the warmth. He studied her as he took a tentative sip of his own tea. Was she ill, too? She looked well enough, but he certainly wasn't the only staff member who was handy with concealment charms.

A sudden searing pain in his ear interrupted his thoughts and he quickly replaced his cup on the table, inhaling sharply and pressing his hand to the side of his head. The room seemed to tilt briefly before righting itself once again, and he closed his eyes, fighting off a wave of dizziness. He concentrated on taking careful, slow breaths until the pain eased and the spinning sensation slowed.

After a few moments, when he felt a bit better, Severus opened his eyes to find Madam Pomfrey giving him a searching look. She was leaning forward in her chair, studying him intently, her brows drawn together in concern. He knew that expression well. It promised nosy inquiries into his health and well-intentioned meddling, neither of which he had the patience for tonight. He offered Poppy what he knew was a sickly and unconvincing smile, and even from a few tablelengths away he heard her snort of disbelief. Minerva studiously ignored them both.

* * *

The next morning, sitting slumped in the staff viewing box at the Quidditch pitch, Severus was feeling no satisfaction about Slytherin's win over Ravenclaw; only a profound sense of relief that the match was finally over. Now he could return to his rooms where it was warm and comfortable.

The Ravenclaw students were hotly contesting the narrow Slytherin victory and their loud, angry voices, overlaid with resounding cheers from the Slytherin side of the pitch, made him feel disoriented and slightly giddy. He accepted Professor Flitwick's congratulatory handshake in a distracted manner. Concealment charms, even skillfully-applied charms, could do nothing for the malaise and fever and body aches accompanying this illness, whatever it was, and he needed to leave before his behavior betrayed him.

"If you'll excuse me," he said to no one in particular, rising abruptly. He was surprised to see Professor McGonagall, who had been sitting quietly nearby, struggle to her feet as well.

"Oh, no you don't," she said, following him from the box. "We have a few things to settle, Professor Snape."

He looked to her for an explanation. What possible grievance could she have? It wasn't her precious Gryffindors who had been bested, after all. She shook her head and motioned him toward the stairs.

He gripped the rail tightly as they descended from the box. It was taking all his concentration not to trip and fall headlong, and he gave a great sigh of relief when at last he found himself on relatively stable ground.

"You're ill," Minerva said with no preamble, as she caught up to him.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" He tried to speak casually, but was forced to reach out one hand to steady himself as he felt the ground shifting beneath his feet.

She gave him a disbelieving look, one eyebrow raised. "Because I suspect that underneath your appearance of rosy good health, you feel as wretched as I do."

He glanced up briefly to where a group of students were peering over the edge of the viewing platform, perhaps hoping to see a duel. He sighed in resignation and looked back to Minerva.

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Agreed."

He offered his arm to her. "Shall we return to the castle before the hordes descend?" Minerva hesitated for a moment, finally tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. Before they set out, he acknowledged the disappointed booing from above with a lazy wave.

They walked along the path in silence for a few minutes before Minerva offered, "It's the damnedest thing, Severus. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what's making me feel so ill. I have the most dreadful little sores in my mouth and down my throat..."

"Have you been to see Poppy, by any chance?"

Minerva scoffed. "To have her poke and prod and wave her wand at me? No, thank you. A few days' rest and I'll be right as rain."

Severus nodded. He was no more eager than Minerva to have the matron fussing and fretting over him.

"Pepperup was useless for me," he said, the thought of Poppy jogging his memory.

"For me as well," she agreed.

"But if you think a fever draught would help," he said, holding the side entrance door open for her, "I have a few left in my stores."

As Minerva smiled and opened her mouth to reply, a familiar voice from behind them asked, "Now why would either of you need a fever draught?"

They froze in horror, staring mutely at one another as Madam Pomfrey stepped between them. "Unless you're hiding something from me?"

Severus was the first to recover his composure. "Don't be ridiculous, Poppy."

"Ridiculous, am I?" she asked, her eyes narrowing, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. Then in a more casual tone she said, "So, tell me, how badly were your Slytherins routed this time?"

"I'll have you know," he said, shooting an irritated glance at Minerva who was shaking with suppressed laughter beside him, "that Slytherin won their match today."

She smiled benignly. "Did they? Will wonders never cease? I suppose next you'll tell me you feel perfectly well and aren't trying to hide anything under a concealment charm. But then," she said, withdrawing her wand, "That would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?"

"I have no time for this foolishness," he muttered,

"Indulge me," Poppy said. She made a quick sideways slashing movement with her wand and the air around Severus and Minerva seemed to shimmer for a moment as the concealment charms fell away.

Severus stole a quick sideways glance at Minerva. She was pale and sweating, with spots of color high in her cheeks, a greenish-red rash surrounding her nose and mouth. He knew, from the expression on her face when she reluctantly raised her eyes to his, that he looked no better.

Poppy winced as she took in their appearances. "I would be hard-pressed to say who looks worse at the moment," she said, shaking her head. "How long have you been feeling ill?"

Severus ignored her question. "You had no right to remove those charms," he protested weakly.

"I wouldn't have had the strength to hold it much longer either way," Minerva said.

"That's beside the point," he began to say, but then stopped. Minerva was right.

Poppy folded her arms. "You are both to go to the infirmary immediately and wait for me in the private ward, just in case you're contagious. And for heaven's sake, lie down until I get there. You look as though you're barely staying on your feet."


	2. Chapter 2

Poppy opened the door leading to the private ward and stood in the doorway for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She was glad she'd thought to grab her cardigan because it was chilly in the room; either they hadn't cared to start a fire or lacked the energy to do so. The shutters had been closed tightly and she could just make out the form of Minerva stretched out on one of the beds and Severus half-reclining on the adjacent bed.

She spoke in a low voice as she crossed to the windows. "I'm going to let in a little light, so you may want to shield your eyes for a moment." There were simultaneous groans as the shutters fell open, letting in a shaft of brilliant winter sunlight.

The matron pulled up a rolling stool between their beds and withdrew her diagnostic wand as she took a seat. "Can you both sit up, please?"

Minerva levered herself slowly to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The usually immaculately put-together professor was a bit disheveled; her hair beginning to come unbound from her bun and glasses sitting askew on her nose. Poppy gently removed them and when Minerva made a noise of protest, she explained, "I need to see your eyes clearly to do a full examination. You can have them back in a moment."

Severus was sitting with his elbows on his knees, tiredly massaging his temples. With an apologetic look at Minerva, Poppy scooted over until she was sitting directly in front of him. Of the two, he seemed to be feeling worse at the moment so she thought it best to complete his examination first.

"Severus, I'm going to ask you again," Poppy said in her best no-nonsense voice. "How long have you been feeling ill?"

"Since yesterday," he mumbled.

"Don't move," she said, flicking her wand upward. As the diagnostic information began to appear, she frowned. "38.5 degrees," she said. "And a splitting headache. No wonder you're so miserable."

She illuminated the tip of her wand and placed her hand under his chin, lifting his head slightly. "Open for me," she said, using the light to study his mouth and throat. After a few minutes, he jerked his head away, smothering a sudden cough into his fist.

"Sorry," she murmured. "We're almost finished. Now, keep your head still and look straight ahead at the tip of my wand." Her eyes followed his as she directed his gaze with the light. When she finished, she patted him on the shoulder gently. "You're feeling dizzy, aren't you? Lie down." He made no argument as he sank back onto the pillows.

"Now for you, Minerva," she said, rolling over to where Professor McGonagall sat waiting, looking rather apprehensive. Poppy repeated the examination with similar results and frowned as she helped Minerva stretch out on the bed.

"I know I've seen this before," she said, thinking out loud as she bustled about the room busily, draping cool cloths across her patient's foreheads and settling warm blankets over them.

When Poppy was satisfied they were reasonably comfortable for the moment, she summoned a weighty, leather-bound book from her office. It hurtled through the air, thumped heavily on the table and fell open with a flick of her wand. She bent low over the pages, murmuring to herself as her finger traced the entries.

"Just as I thought," she said after a few moments of study, tapping the page emphatically as she looked up. "High fever, body aches, headache, a greenish rash affecting the mucous membranes...it's a classic case of Grindylow Pox."

Severus and Minerva both stirred slightly at her pronouncement but were sunk too far into their respective miseries to make any reply.

"Have either of you had contact with an ill Grindylow in the past few weeks?"

Severus rolled over, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders. "Minerva and I assisted Professor Lupin in gathering a number of Grindylows from the lake prior to start of term." His eyes were still closed and it sounded as if it were taking all of his effort to speak coherently. "But at the time there was no indication that any were ill."

"But you were bitten rather badly," Minerva reminded him.

Poppy looked over at him in surprise. "Bitten? And you didn't...?" She sighed. "Never mind, don't answer that. Of course you didn't come here for treatment."

"It was a superficial bite, Poppy."

"And one of them caught me on my wand hand," Minerva added. "Just a scratch."

"Honestly," Poppy huffed. "And neither of you thought to use a simple containment charm when transporting the horrid little things?"

"It didn't seem necessary at the time."

Poppy sank down at her desk, her chin propped in her hand as she continued reading the entry on Grindylow Pox.

_"There is no known preventative agent and no definitive treatment; the standard of care for all cases of Grindylow Pox is symptomatic relief."_

She glanced over to where they both lay unmoving. "All I can do is make you comfortable until the illness runs its course," she said into the silence, although she suspected her patients had already dozed off. "You're both running temperatures, so I think a fever draught with an analgesic is in order first."

Minerva had to be aroused to take her potion, and she was so drowsy that Poppy had to support her around the shoulders while she swallowed the dose. Her head lolled back to the pillows and with a sleepy smile for Poppy, she curled on her side, a pillow clutched to her chest, and promptly fell asleep.

Severus watched warily as Madam Pomfrey approached him, potion vial in hand. "I'm not taking that," he said. "And I'm not staying here either." He tried to push himself up from the bed, but became completely entangled in the blankets while attempting to rise.

"Must we go through this every time you're ill?" she asked, gently extricating him from the tangle of covers. "You're contagious, and for the protection of the students, I cannot allow you to leave until you've recovered. Now, drink this and try to get some rest." Something about the stubborn set of his shoulders and his petulant tone of voice niggled at Poppy's mind. It all seemed very familiar somehow.

She sank into her desk chair, pulled the book forward and read the last paragraph:

_"In more severe cases of Grindylow Pox, usually affecting adults, the body temperature can spike as high as 39 degrees and may cause a temporary period of emotional regression, lasting two to three days."_

"Wonderful," she said, passing a hand wearily over her eyes. "The next few days should be very interesting indeed."

* * *

"It's a viscous potion," Poppy explained to Severus and Minerva, who were sitting in comfortable chairs near a cheerful fire in the private ward. "If possible, you need to hold it in your mouth for a few minutes before swallowing. Judging from the smell, it won't taste very nice, but it will help heal the inflammation." She dispensed two doses and held them out.

Minerva took the glass and eyed the grayish, thick liquid with distaste, grimacing at the smell, but gamely filled her mouth. With tears leaking out between her closed eyelids, she sat motionless before finally swallowing it down. With a pointed glare at Poppy, she pressed her handkerchief to her face as she coughed and spluttered.

Severus refused to accept the proffered glass. "Is this from dispensary stock or did you brew it?" he asked, one eyebrow raised doubtfully.

"A little of both, actually," Poppy said. "It's a base of Pepperup with some additions that were recommended in the medical text."

"Exactly what were the additions?" he asked, reaching out a hand for the glass and holding it up for inspection, turning it in the fading afternoon light

"Will you please stop asking so many questions? You know I wouldn't dare try to poison a Potions master unless he gave me a good reason."

He narrowed his eyes and downed the potion quickly, enduring it more stoically than Minerva, but with a pained expression nonetheless.

"It tastes horrid, I know," she said, patting him on the shoulder. He twitched away from her and stared moodily into the fire.

"Since you've both managed to sleep through lunch and tea time," Poppy said, hoping to cheer her patients, "how about some ice cream? You can have any flavor you like."

"That sounds wonderful," Minerva said, brightening noticeably.

Severus scoffed. "Foolishness."

Poppy was reminded suddenly of a stubborn little first-year student who, many years ago, had always gone to great lengths to prove he wasn't a child. "It isn't foolish, though," she told him in a reasonable tone of voice, trying to appeal to his logical side. "The ice cream will soothe your mouth and throat, take away some of the nasty taste of the potion and provide some much-needed nourishment."

"May I have strawberry?" Minerva asked.

Severus blew out an exasperated breath. "Strawberry?" he said. "Must _everything _in your life be painted in nauseating Gryffindor colors?"

Minerva looked hurt for a moment. "I happen to love strawberry ice cream."

"That's fine, Minerva," Poppy assured her. "Strawberry it is. Now Severus, what about you?"

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I don't care for any, thank you."

"That's a shame," Poppy said. "You'll need something on your stomach before you take your evening potions and if you won't have ice cream, I suppose I'll have to bring you porridge instead."

He sighed in a very put-out manner, which didn't fool Poppy for a moment. "Fine," he said, without looking at her. "Pistachio, if you have it."

Minerva made a disgusted noise and Severus whirled on her. "What?"

"Well," she said indignantly. "It's green! You can't complain about my choice of strawberry when you're having Slytherin-colored ice cream."

"What are you on about? Pistachio ice cream is not Slytherin-colored; it's a different shade of green altogether."

"So is strawberry! It's pink! It's nothing at all like Grynffindor colors, so I don't know how you come off accusing me..."

Poppy raised her voice and spoke over the pair as they continued to argue. "Stop it, the both of you, or you're getting plain vanilla instead."

They fell silent at that, glaring at one another.

"That's more like it," Poppy said, heading for the door. "I'll be back in a bit."

As she reached out for the latch, she paused as she heard him say sharply, "Only snakes stick out their tongues, Minerva."

"Takes one to know one, _Severus_."

Poppy stepped into the corridor, shutting the door firmly, sighing in relief as the sounds of their bickering receded. Just as predicted, the next few days were going to be interesting and very, very long.


	3. Chapter 3

Minerva lay on her back in her bed in the private ward, a pillow clutched tightly to her chest for comfort. She felt so...odd. She had been irritable and snappish all day, which was to be expected, but now, long after Poppy had banked the fire and checked on them one last time, she lay awake. And not only was she was awake, she was feeling dreadful and truth be told, rather sorry for herself.

Her chin quivered slightly at the thought and she huffed impatiently. Minerva McGonagall did _not_ cry. Well, not usually, but she was unsettled and a bit frightened; there was no other word for it. Here she was, a brave Gryffindor, head of Gryffindor House no less, and a night in the private ward had unstrung her so thoroughly she was on the verge of tears. But she never slept well unless she was in her own quarters, surrounded by her familiar things.

She strained her eyes in the dim light of the room, feeling utterly lost until her restless gaze fell on the sleeping form of her ward mate.

He was lying on his stomach, his head turned away from her, one long arm dangling off the edge of the bed, fingertips nearly brushing the floor. His blankets were drawn up tightly and as she listened for any noise that might indicate he was awake, he remained still and silent. Her unease overcoming her good judgment, Minerva levered herself up on one elbow and leaned towards him.

"Psst!" she whispered. When there was no reply nor any movement, she sat up quickly and chucked a pillow in his direction. "Psst! Severus!"

As the pillow made contact with his back, the effect was instantaneous. He snarled, his head whipping around, one hand instinctively reaching for his wand until he realized he was in pajamas. Minerva couldn't see his expression, but when he spoke, his voice was incredulous.

"Was I dreaming," he asked, slightly out of breath, "or did you just throw a pillow at me?"

"I couldn't tell if you were sleeping or not," she said, her relief at having someone to talk with overriding any guilt she might have felt.

"You could have tried asking me," he said, flopping back to the bed ungracefully.

"Well, were you? Sleeping, I mean."

"I was trying to," he said huffily, after a moment.

"I can't sleep either," Minerva said, scrambling from her own bed.

She closed the space between them quickly, before she could lose her nerve, and gathering her nightgown in one hand, went to her knees at his bedside. She rested her chin on his mattress so they were at eye level with one another; or would have been, had he bothered looking at her.

"How are you feeling, Severus?"

"Awful," he said flatly, raising a hand to massage his forehead.

"As am I." A hard shiver ran through her. "And it's so chilly in here. I can't seem to warm up enough to fall asleep."

"You could stoke the fire," he said, turning on his side to face her, his voice beginning to slur slightly.

She looked toward the nearly-dark grate and back towards him. His eyes were black and fathomless, and even at this close distance, she couldn't read his expression. She didn't want the warmth of a fire, but couldn't quite bring herself to ask for what she did want.

"I feel very silly, Severus," she said with a nervous laugh, "But I was wondering..."

"Spit it out," he said tiredly. "Gryffindors are hardly known for their subtlety."

"It's just that...I don't feel well, and it's so cold in bed all by myself, and I thought, maybe..." Her fingers worried the blanket as she trailed off, waiting for his refusal.

The silence stretched out between them, and just when she had resigned herself to returning to her own bed, Severus nodded solemnly, seeming to understand, and threw back the blankets for her. She rose slowly to her feet and then hesitated with one knee on the bed. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Minerva," he said impatiently. "You woke me up, hurled a pillow at my head...don't play coy now."

She needed no further encouragement and clambered into bed beside him. Severus turned to his side, facing away from her, and she curled up carefully next to him. She inched as close as she dared to the warmth of his back, and then sighed as she felt every taut muscle in her body beginning to relax.

"This is much nicer," she said. "Thank you."

He shifted his weight away from her restlessly. "I don't suppose you could do anything about the size of the bed?"

Minerva nodded and called out, "_Accio_ wand," in a quiet voice. Poppy certainly hadn't done a very thorough job of hiding their wands after she took them, because it was only seconds until she felt her wand land smoothly in her hand. She quickly transfigured the single bed into one expansive enough to accommodate them both, and settled herself once again.

The fire had burned itself out almost completely, and although the room was dark, the bed was snug and Minerva could feel a delicious warmth spreading through her aching body. She closed her eyes, knowing it wouldn't take long before she drifted off. Except there was one other thing niggling at her. It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous, but it still didn't stop her from giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Severus?"

He sighed in a aggrieved manner. "What is it now?"

"Will you...?" Minerva's voice faltered, but then she steeled herself. "Would you mind telling me a story?"

There was an awkward silence and then, in a low voice, he said, "Once upon a time, in a castle in Scotland, there lived a powerful witch. She could do wonderful magic, but she had one fault: She didn't know when to stop talking. She kept nattering on, even when her friend was trying to sleep, so one night, when he'd finally had enough, he hexed her." He gave his pillow a hard thump and burrowed more deeply into the blankets. "The end."

"That wasn't a very nice story," she said, tugging the blankets back over to her side a bit more forcefully than necessary.

"I thought it had a rather happy ending, myself."

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing becoming deep and even. "Am I really your friend?" she asked quietly, more to herself than to him.

He rolled over towards her, half-asleep, and as he draped one arm around her protectively, he murmured, "Go to sleep, Minerva."

* * *

Poppy glanced up from the parchment she was completing, surprised to see the Headmaster standing politely at the threshold to her office.

"Good evening, Albus," she said, motioning him towards the overstuffed chair across from her desk.

"Madam Pomfrey," he said pleasantly as he settled himself comfortably and folded his hands across his stomach.

"I'm sorry you had to come all this way," she said, rolling the parchment and sending it to a nearby cabinet with a flick of her wand. "I was going to stop in to see you before I retired for the evening."

"No matter," he said. "A walk is good for the digestion. Besides, I've always found your office rather cozy." Dumbledore sat forward and plucked a wrapped sweet from the ever-present dish at the edge of Poppy's desk. "Toffee," he announced happily after unwrapping the sweet and popping it into his mouth. "Tell me, how are Minerva and Severus this evening?"

"As well as can be expected. They're uncomfortable, but in three days or so the fever will recede and the pox will begin to clear. You'll need to find someone to cover their classes in the meantime."

"Locums have been arranged for all of next week. Will that be sufficient recovery time, do you think?"

Poppy considered it, her gaze going to one of the high casement windows on the opposite wall. "I can't say with any certainty," she admitted. "Grindylow Pox is uncommon, and their recovery could be complicated." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose tightly, trying to stifle a yawn. "Still, they're both in relatively good health and seem to be responding well to symptomatic treatment thus far."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, stretching his legs out comfortably. "Nevertheless, I will ask their locums to be available for the following week as well, if you think it best."

Poppy nodded, and reached for the candy bowl herself. Her energy was beginning to flag and a little hit of sugar would not go amiss.

"I visited Professor Lupin earlier today," she said after a moment. "He's quarantined the affected Grindylows until the Creature-Induced Injuries team from St. Mungo's can collect them tomorrow. Thankfully, he hadn't yet used them in the classroom so I doubt any students were exposed."

"Did Remus appear ill to you?"

"No more so than usual," she said, shrugging. "But the incubation period for Grindylow Pox is two weeks, so I'll need to keep an eye on him regardless."

"And as you requested," Dumbledore said, "I made an announcement at the evening meal tonight, advising anyone who is symptomatic to report to the hospital wing immediately."

Poppy nodded. "I'm sure I'll be seeing the odd hypochondriac here and there in the next few days, but I suppose that can't be helped," she said. "And Hagrid?"

"From what I could observe he is currently unaffected by the pox, but he has agreed to report any concerning symptoms to you promptly."

"Good enough," she said. "It appears we've done all we can at the moment."

"Indeed." Dumbledore sat on the edge of the chair and placed his clasped hands on her desk. "I must say, you've done an admirable job containing the spread of the disease, Poppy." His face was serious as he asked, "How many do you think will ultimately be affected? We could see about having a Healer in to assist you until the pox runs its course."

"Thank you, Headmaster, but that won't be necessary," she said, rearranging the paperweights on her desk to cover her unease. "Grindylow Pox is exceedingly rare, and not contagious in the usual manner. It's communicable only through exposure to an infected Grindylow. I expect any outbreak to be limited."

"If it isn't contagious, then why take the precaution of isolating Severus and Minerva in the private ward?"

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and smiling indulgently at him. "Grindylow Pox can cause, for lack of a better phrase, exceedingly childish behavior. As a matter of fact, every time I've checked on Minerva and Severus today they've been bickering about something or the other. I'd prefer they believe their condition is contagious. I'd rather have them here than wandering about the castle in their present states and possibly embarrassing themselves...or worse."

"But surely they would be more comfortable in their private quarters?"

"I have no doubt, provided they would do the sensible thing and remain there, which you and I both know is extremely unlikely." Poppy pushed herself away from the desk and stood, digging her fingers into her lower back. "I'm going to look in on them one last time before bed," she said, yawning again. "I suspect they're having a bit of a restless night. It wasn't more than half an hour ago that Minerva summoned her wand from my office."

"You confiscated their wands?" Dumbledore said in surprise, rising from his chair to follow her out of the room.

"For their own good," Poppy said as they walked down the corridor towards the private ward. "Another of the unfortunate effects of Grindylow pox is emotional lability and a lack of impulse control; couple that with the fact that neither has lost their abilities and I thought it best to remove anything that they could potentially use for ill in a moment of weakness."

Poppy withdrew her own wand as they neared the ward, and she put a finger to her lips just before pushing gently against the door. As it swung silently back on its hinges, she illuminated her wand, shielding the soft glow with one hand as she peered into the room.

"They're finally sleeping, bless them," she whispered as Dumbledore came to stand by her side. She extinguished the light and approached their bed quietly. Severus was lying with one arm around Minerva. Both of their faces were peaceful. Smoothing the fall of black hair on the pillow, Poppy was taken aback by the sleepy smile Severus directed at her, and she impulsively bent to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. She quickly activated the charm that would alert her to any overnight disturbances and then motioned to the Headmaster to follow her from the room.

"Poppy," Dumbledore whispered, withdrawing into the corridor, but unable to take his eyes from the sleeping figures as the ward door swung shut. "Are Minerva and Severus...sharing a bed?"

She glanced at him quickly and laughed. "Don't look so scandalized, Albus. They're as innocent as two children snuggling together."

"The fact remains," he said, peering at her gravely over the top of his spectacles, "they are Hogwarts professors and Heads of their respective Houses. Do you think it proper to allow them to pass the night together like this? What if word should get out?"

"It won't," Poppy said. "I'll separate their beds again near morning, hopefully without disturbing them. For now, I'll let them be."

He looked back towards the closed door, his expression still doubtful.

"They're ill, Albus," she reminded him. "And sometimes, we need the comfort of our friends."

His face softened and then he smiled, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. "Have I ever mentioned," he said, taking her arm, and patting her hand fondly, "how very fortunate we are to have you, Poppy?"

"Luckily for us all," she said, "I enjoy the company of children."


End file.
